


Of Vices and Virtues: Extensions

by everythingincorrect



Category: Errementari: The Blacksmith and the Devil (2018)
Genre: Demons, Development, Fiction, Fluff, Healing, disguises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 07:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21071288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingincorrect/pseuds/everythingincorrect
Summary: Multiple scenes that may or may not be added to the Of Vices and Virtues fic will be here. Some may be included, changed or tossed. Warnings: contains fluff if you squint.





	Of Vices and Virtues: Extensions

“Ow! Easy!”

“It wouldn’t hurt if you would just _be still_.”

Usue hissed as the cloth pressed against the wound. “It’s not that bad,” she tried to assure. “I can take care of it myself.”

“If there’s anything you should be doing right now, it’s resting.” The rag was washed, then brought back down to the sliced skin. The gash that ran across the back of her hand needed to be cleaned, and at the sight of how many cuts there were, his frustration continued to grow.

“Ah! That hurt!”

“Good, I meant it!” The lie escaped easily. He knew he had barely placed any pressure on her. “If you hadn’t been playing with the damn thing in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this position, now would you?”

“I was practicing! Besides, he said my form needs a bit of work, and he trusts me on my own.”

Sartael’s glare never diminished. His clawed hand wrung the soaked rag, grumbling leaving his black lips as the water spilled into the bowl tainted red. He didn’t support her “lessons”, or so they were called to begin with since he arrived, and it didn’t help that the girl attempted to _practice _whenever she possibly could, alone or not. He left only to come back and find out she was parading around with a sword in her hand, an uncouth thing frowned upon by others. Any villager in this day and age deemed sparring far from ladylike. She was a girl, not a seven-foot tall warrior! He should have forced her to put the blade away when her hand first started to slip. As she fiddled with the hilt a few more times, blood streamed rivulets down her wrists.

_Now I have to play nurse, _he thought bitterly, curling his lip. A growl rose from his throat.

“And due to that, look where you are now.”

“I need to be good at it sometime,” the girl murmured, casting her eyes down to her cut hands. Her hair shielded her face again. “I’m not really good at anything else.”

“Spare me the dramatics. If the man trusts you with it on your own, then you must have done something right,” he stated, his attention turning to the largest gash, “compared to what I saw…”

She huffed in annoyance, lifting her head. “And what did you see?”

“You call it practicing. I call it dancing—OW!”

He flinched as her fist met his shoulder, but it quickly recoiled. She cradled it, hissing in pain, inwardly cursing herself.

“Do you even _want_ to get better at this point? It’s bad enough that I have to sit here for an hour, and I don’t need another!”

“If it’s such a chore, then let me do it!” her voice rose. “I’ve done it a thousand times before!”

The demon concentrating on her wounds looked up at the last sentence. The words spilled from her mouth with ease. For a fleeting moment, alarm prickled his skin, his voice lowering.

“…What do you mean you’ve done it a thousand times before?”

“While in the wood,” she replied nonchalantly, his face overlooked, “when I’d skip Mass. I would always get scrapes and cuts like this.”

He snarled, suspicion forgotten. “Your little ‘scrapes’ and ‘cuts’ could get infected if not paid the proper attention.”

She decided to fall silent, keeping her gaze down. The girl couldn’t help but feel embarrassed from where she was sitting. In the past, it was always unknown what would happen to her if she approached Mateo or Blanca over minor injuries, mostly because she attained them from disobeying. She feared having to confess the crime after being asked how they appeared, one of the first questions given of how another received their wounds. She always took caution whenever her arms or legs were marked from the wood, and would learn from watching Ana heal Benito whenever he would play with the other children. His mother would be quick to treat the child in public, shooing others out of the way, hence granting her knowledge of standard ointments to place on the wounds in prevention of infection.

But Sartael had been angry from the start, and she couldn’t fit in a word after he led her away from the stream she practiced at almost daily. The creek was hidden, secluded, and contained plenty of space for combat on the banks. The blood that ran down her hands wasn’t even noticed until he started to chastise her. It didn’t even hurt as the hilt spun in her palm. They weaved through the wood, her feet struggling to keep up while he ranted about her “carelessness” and folly from start to finish, every now and then grumbling about her trainer not being there. He continued to rant now as he sat, listening to her fuss. Even the spade of his tail was flicking in agitation.

“It’s really not that bad.”

“I could do without the _whining_.”

She flinched from the growl that trailed his sentence. Dipping the rag into the bowl, he washed it again.

It amazed her, really, how sharp his words were, sharp enough to sever limbs rather than leave scrapes, and yet the cloth tending to her bloodied hands was gentle. She had been startled from the moment he stood up, almost speechless from his onslaught of why holding the blade in such a way was foolish. She had tried to explain herself while on their way back to the village, but each attempt was a failure. His disguise was dropped as soon as the door shut, and he ushered her upstairs into the spare bedroom. Eventually he was silent, pacing around the floor, searching for what he needed. She sat on the bed while a stool from the other side of the room was fetched, and confusion settled when he left only to reappear with the bowl of water. She felt useless, staring at him in wonder as the anger radiated throughout the room.

Usue began to grow more uncertain. It was the first time he pulled off something like this, and there wasn’t even any warning. From her previous encounters with the demon years ago, she would have expected to receive a scolding, but nothing more. Hell, he may have rather watch her bleed than throw such a fuss. Patxi would tend to her, perhaps, but not him.

She didn’t know what to think, and still worried he would drop everything and leave if the wrong thing was said. Perhaps now it was best to keep quiet, but at the moment, his actions were unpredictable.

Surely nothing was meant by it. Maybe he just found satisfaction in ridiculing.

_But I know what ridiculing is_, she told herself, remembering when Benito shoved her to the ground. _It’s not this. _

“There,” he finished. “Keep pressure off of them unless you want stains on your sheets in the morning, a mess you’ll be cleaning up.” He gathered up the rag and the bowl. “Now if you can keep yourself out of trouble for the next few minutes, I believe it’s time to rest.”

She had been so lost in thought that she didn’t see the bandages on her hands, a shield of white wrapped neatly, until now. Asking how he knew what exactly to do with her injuries would be stupid. His lifespan stretched far beyond any man’s, and he must have witnessed multiple healing procedures while collecting souls.

_But it’s not like this was necessary. _She really could have done it on her own.

“I will be returning to the stable at dawn if you need anything prior, though I trust you will not wander off in the middle of the night.”

“No,” she muttered.

The warning didn’t need to be told twice. After he exited the doorway to put away the supplies, Usue took the time to get dressed. The wooden floor creaked under her feet, the walls cold and gray compared to her bedroom warmed by candlelight. But with the state of her hands, there was no chance in returning back to the monastery, lest she wanted to listen to any more shouting.

The crescent moon barely shed any light in the dark. Placing her day attire in a nearby basket, she saw the pitchfork settled against the wall, and quickly scurried under the covers before he came back for it.

_I shouldn’t have to put up with this,_ Sartael thought, reentering the room. But the night was almost over. Clouds outside the small window began to roll in. The steady pitter patter of rain started to fall, indicating a storm was on its way.

Usue gnawed at her lower lip. Hesitation began to etch itself into her face. For a moment, she considered just turning towards the wall and forcing herself to fall asleep. They were both tired, and it was already late enough as it was. She had slept on her own in the dark before countless times, but after what she saw in the wood with Benito, she wasn’t sure if being alone was very smart. Of course, it would take effort for someone to break in, and Sartael would surely sense if a stranger crept through the halls, let alone managed to get inside the cottage. One could even predict they would be killed on sight.

But the shadow of the man in the wood still rattled her. He had moved quickly, the pair unable to identify where exactly his location was. The sound of metal clinked with every movement, and it was unknown whether harm was intended or not.

They had nothing on them for protection. They were lucky enough to be fetched by Santi before anything happened, especially considering what occurred not even two nights after.

_But you’re fine_, she told herself. _You’re fine, and there’s no reason to worry. Just go to sleep. _

Still… 

Her gaze remained on the floor, hands gently picking at the hem of her gown. She wanted to ask with ease, but needed to remember whom she was speaking to, trying not to look nervous.

“Will you stay?”

The soft voice met his ears, and he paused. Briefly, he wondered if they were playing tricks.

But his ears were far advanced than hers. He heard her correct. Turning his head, an eyebrow rose in question.

“Why in the hell would you want that?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“You should be.”

“But I’m not.”

The quiet resumed while he thought about her request, his face unable to be read.

She had been just fine prior to his return, and he had supervised enough for the evening. He was tired, though demons did not really need sleep, and still annoyed with how the day went.

He could have spent the evening off on his own from the job, but the man was insistent on being absent while Usue handled her weapon. If he had been there, perhaps he would have treated her wounds instead of leaving it to him. The girl hadn’t even noticed her injuries until he intervened! And the protests she gave him while he cleaned up her bloody mess only added onto her carelessness. It was irritating enough having to listen to her complaining.

The word no was just on the tip of his tongue. One sharp, two-lettered word and he could rest by himself in the other room as routined. The night could finally be over with if he could just get it out of his mouth.

But those damn blue eyes were getting to him again, and in an instant, he remembered the small child standing before his cage. That didn’t really help at all. He knew she was trying to hide her nervousness, but she was never really good at covering her emotions from the beginning. The look on her face was hard to ignore, and he could see her fear like looking through glass, as if she expected he would disappear on sight.

No, she wasn’t afraid, he knew, turning away. It was nearly midnight, the moon was covered, and any light in the room was gone. As he crossed the floor, he took a seat in the worn armchair. He tried not to appear as menacing when he reclined, his gaze lingering near the ground, anywhere but where Usue lay. Despite how she felt, Sartael was certain she didn’t want to open her eyes to a demon just staring at her in the dark. The pitchfork rested against the wall next to him, while his own yellow eyes stood out against his silhouette.

“Sleep.”

Usue tried to hide her small smile, dipping her head and reaching for the covers. She was careful with her bandages, moving gently as she began to settle, curling up on her side while arm tucked itself beneath her head. The other rested across her stomach. With a faint sigh, she shut her lids.

Something shifted in that moment.

She couldn’t put her finger on it and definitely had no idea how it occurred, but it was there. Brushing it off would do no good; it could not be denied. True, this day had been strange from start to finish, but tonight left her confused in the most pleasant way. Years ago in Patxi’s keep, she would have never dared to think of such a question in front of the demon. Years ago, he would have never even bat an eye at the sight of her sliced hands. If anything, he would have laughed.

Now her hands were healed, or at least taken care of, and it took almost no effort to get him to stay, no explanation having to be rushed out in defense. The girl didn’t even have to utter one word of bribing, though the matter would’ve been dropped if it came to that.

She felt it filling the space in between them. It struck a chord.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too.

The dark continued to grow, its depths filling any void in space. The covers dressed her in warmth, the moonlight faded to nothing, and the knowing that Sartael was on watch lulled her away. The feeling of her body relaxing into the cot soothed her, all thoughts leaving as soon as they came.

She succumbed to sleep.


End file.
